Martin Farquhar Tupper Quotes

Hush,—for the halo of calmness is spreading Over my spirit as mild as a dove; Hush,—for the angel of comfort is shedding Over my body his vial of love; Hush,—for new slumbers are over me stealing, Thus would I court them again and again, Hush,—for my heart is intoxicate,—reeling In the swift waltz of my beautiful brain!

Open the casement, and up with the Sun! His gallant journey is just begun; Over the hills his chariot is roll'd, Banner'd with glory, and burnish'd with gold,— Over the hills he comes sublime, Bridegroom of Earth, and brother of Time!

How gladly would I wander through some strange and savage land, The lasso at my saddle-bow, the rifle in my hand, A leash of gallant mastiffs bounding by my side, And, for a friend to love, the noble horse on which I ride! Alone, alone—yet not alone, for God is with me there, The tender hand of Providence shall guide me everywhere, While happy thoughts and holy hopes, as spirits calm and mild, Shall fan with their sweet wings the hermit-hunter of the wild!

Who shall guess what I may be? Who can tell my fortune to me? For, bravest and brightest that ever was sung May be — and shall be — the lot of the young!

For life, good youth, hath never an ill Which hope cannot scatter, and faith cannot kill; And stubborn realities never shall bind The free-spreading wings of a cheerful mind.

Never give up! it is wiser and better Always to hope, than once to despair. Fling off the load of Doubt's cankering fetter, And break the dark spell of tyrannical care.

Eye hath not seen, tongue hath not told, And ear hath not heard it sung, How buoyant and bold, though it seem to grow old, Is the heart, forever young; — Forever young, — though life's old age Hath every nerve unstrung: The heart, the heart, is a heritage That keeps the old man young!

A dream, a dream, — it is all a dream, A strange, sad dream, good sooth; For old as I am, and old as I seem, My heart is full of youth.

I am not old, — I cannot be old, Though tottering, wrinkled, and gray ; Though my eyes are dim, and my marrow is cold, Call me not old to-day.

I am not old, — I cannot be old, Though threescore years and ten Have wasted away, like a tale that is told, The lives of other men: I am not old ; though friends and foes Alike have gone to their graves, And left me alone to my joys or my woes, As a rock in the midst of the waves.

His fashion is passion, sincere and intense, — His impulse is simple and true; Yet temper'd by judgment, and taught by good sense, And cordial with me and with you.

Fearless in honesty, gentle yet just, He warmly can love, and can hate; Nor will he bow down, with his face in the dust, To Fashion's intolerant state;

Away with false fashion, so calm and so chill, Where pleasure itself cannot please; Away with cold breeding, that faithlessly still Affects to be quite at its ease; For the deepest in feeling is highest in rank, The freest is first of the band, Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, Is a man with his heart in his hand!

O fair, false city, thou gay and gilded harlot! Wo for thy wanton heart, wo for thy wicked hardness! Wo unto thee, that the lightsomeness of life, beneath Italian suns, Should meet the solemnity of death, in a sepulchre so foul and fearful!

Naples sitteth by the sea, keystone of an arch of azure, Crowned by consenting nations peerless queen of gayety: She laugheth at the wrath of Ocean, she mocketh the fury of Vesuvius, She spurneth disease, and misery, and famine, that crowd her sunny streets.